


Le Freak C'est Chic

by Hammocker



Series: Pure Oswald/Victor Works [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dancing, Disco, M/M, Post-Coital Cuddling, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-16 10:05:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4621221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hammocker/pseuds/Hammocker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zsasz invites Oswald dancing on his own terms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You know that one scene where Zsasz's ringtone is Funkytown? This whole fic is essentially a very elaborate and kind of dumb expansion on that. It wasn't supposed to be this long, I swear.
> 
> I feel kinda bad about writing these two characters like this because Oswald does some really horrible shit to Zsasz in the comics and the Arkham games and I do take some elements of comic Zsasz while writing him here and it's all just kind of strange.

Oswald wasn't sure what to think when Victor Zsasz, Falcone's top assassin and right-hand man, invited him out to a discothèque for drinks and dancing.

Gabe had handed him an envelope early that Monday, just a simple little purple thing. He was flattered that someone had thought it prudent to write him, but it was odd nonetheless. Nobody ever wrote him for anything; usually people simply approached him in person or gave him a call as both were more immediate than a written letter. He half hoped that it might be Jim finally apologizing for snubbing his invitation to the Lounge's grand opening, Jim being much too proud to do so in person.

As soon as he opened it, though, any hopes for a nice, pleasant letter went out the window. He immediately noticed the signature at the bottom, written in messy cursive that didn't match the actual content's fine printing. Victor Zsasz. Victor Zsasz had dictated a letter to him. He suddenly felt a sinking feeling in his gut and as he read it only sunk deeper.

Victor, it seemed, wanted Oswald to come with him to a “discothèque” on Saturday. Odd choice of word, Oswald had thought. He probably just meant some kind of dance club. Victor had never seemed especially socially aware, so he just wrote it off as an oddity. That is, until he saw the suggested attire. “Button down shirt, top buttons open, perhaps a jacket; flared pants, bell bottoms, preferably satin or polyester; leisure suits also acceptable. Not too casual, but fun and colorful.” Disco attire. God in heaven, help him now.

Oswald considered burning the letter right then and there, but immediately thought better of it. He couldn't hide from Zsasz any more than Zsasz's targets could. Written next to Victor's signature were the words, “RSVP, regrets only.” If he wasn't planning on going, he would at least have to reply. Victor was liable to be offended if Oswald refused, and even more so if Oswald both didn't reply and didn't show up. Oswald was terrified of Zsasz as it was; he did not need to see an offended Zsasz. So it was decided: Oswald was going to a disco.

As there was absolutely no chance of him going anywhere in bell bottoms, Oswald figured that a leisure suit would have to do. He picked out a navy blue suit, one of the few deviations of his regular attire in his wardrobe. He hoped that would be leisurely enough. Better yet, he hoped that Saturday would simply not happen that week.

Unfortunately, the week seemed to fly by. The Iceberg Lounge saw nothing but success, Butch proving himself a more and more useful asset every day. Oswald was gaining momentum in the city by the minute. He should have been pleased and he would have been, but with Victor seemingly hanging over him at every turn, he couldn't relax, he could barely sleep.

It was almost a blessing when Saturday finally came and he got in the back of his car, informing his driver to drop him off a block or so away from the address of the discothèque. At least it was time to relieve the tension that had been weighing upon him. Yet the apprehension only grew as they came closer and closer to his destination, a knot firmly set in his stomach as he stepped out and told his driver to come back around one in the morning. It was already eleven, but even two hours with Victor seemed like an impossible feat.

Oswald considered how a disco club could possibly still be in business in this day and age as he hobbled his way down the sidewalk, past a variety of nightclubs and bars and the patrons mobbing around them. He had thought that disco had died decades ago and there couldn't be a big enough niche demanding a resurgence for even one themed club to function, not with more modern competition. Oswald had to imagine that whoever ran the place was being endorsed by one of Gotham's resident mob higher-ups, but he couldn't say who. For all he knew, Zsasz had pulled some strings with Falcone to keep the place up and running.

At the very least, it was out of the way enough that nobody potentially important would see him. Yet still, he felt awfully out of place as he approached the club's entrance.

That is until he saw Victor standing outside as he waited, completely shirtless and wearing flared, black and white, plaid pants. Oswald wasn't sure what the least horrible option was: keeping his eyes on Victor's hypnotically tacky pants, staring at the blond curls that had overtaken much of his chest, or looking at Victor's face and risking eye contact. He ended up opting for the last as Victor's eyes had caught his own already.

“Oswald,” Victor greeted him, sauntering forward a few steps. “I was afraid you might leave me hanging.”

Zsasz's grin seemed genuine, yet there remained a passive threat to it, like a shark that might bite at any moment.

“Oh, of course not,” Oswald said, returning a more amiable smile. “I wouldn't miss spending time with you for the world,”

“You flatter me,” Zsasz said, his expression only growing sharper and more predatory. “Come on, I'll buy you a drink. Several if necessary.”

It was only a lighthearted offer, but one Oswald appreciated nonetheless. He was going to need several drinks at this rate. But, on the other hand, he wasn't sure if he trusted himself drunk and attended by Victor Zsasz.

Nonetheless, he found himself enthusiastically sipping a Whiskey Sour as he tried to block out the unbearable disco music pumping throughout the club. Victor, on the other hand, had ordered “watercress and strawberries,” which looked to be some kind of thick, pinkish drink. It looked less like a proper cocktail and more like a smoothie. Oswald almost suspected that it didn't actually have any booze in it. By the way he had spoken to the bartender - casual, yet curt - Oswald could have guessed that Victor ordered this thing a lot. But Oswald didn't want to ask right then. Best to find a slightly less narrow topic.

“Do you come here often?” Oswald asked.

“Any night when I have no mark to claim, yes. I find the noise cathartic. The noise and the motion. I work in silence often, Oswald. It leaves one thirsting for stimulation.” Victor closed his his eyes and took in a deep breath before looking back to Oswald with a grin. “And I find the best friends here.”

By “friends,” Oswald figured that Victor meant the strange, scantily-clad women who often accompanied him. But he didn't really want to know any more about that. Better to change the subject.

“I wouldn't have taken you to be a fan of disco. I mean, just looking at you, you don't seem like-”

“Disco is very simple,” Victor cut in. “It feeds into the most pleasant of primal instincts. The music of more current clubs is also simple, yet there is a haze of lust and violence. I don't mind either on their own, but they are not two things that should be intertwined lightly.” Victor took a sniff of the air. “There's lust here, pure lust. Can you smell it?”

“My sense of smell is really quite weak, you understand.”

“I can smell it. It's invigorating,” Victor breathed. “We should be dancing, you know.” 

“Oh, no, I don't really dance,” Oswald lied. He could dance fine so long as it wasn't too fast-paced, but with Victor, he wasn't exactly eager to do so.

“You own a club and yet you don't dance?”

“I don't participate directly in many of our festivities, I'm afraid. Not with my leg as it is,” Oswald said, a sheepish smile coming over his face.

“You coddle that limb,” Zsasz said, a hint of contempt in his voice. “How can you expect to attract your prospective mate if you can't dance?”

“Prospective-?”

“Your officer. The one Falcone set me upon. What was his name? Giorgio? Jared?”

“Oh,” Oswald croaked, suddenly frozen on the spot. He supposed that an eye for detail would be useful weapon in an assassin's arsenal. 

“Jamal? James? Yes, it was James.”

“Oh, no, no, no, it's not- our relationship is purely one of business and casual friendship.”

“You're usually good at lying. Hiding,” Zsasz commented.

He placed his drink down on the bar and stood up.

“This needs to be fixed,” he said, in a tone that Oswald might have taken as “I need to cut your throat” in any other situation. “I'll teach you to hustle.”

“Hustle?”

“Yes, the New York Hustle, a simple partner dance. Maybe more later,” Victor said, offering his right hand to Oswald.

“Really, Victor, I don't think-”

“I will lead,” Victor broke in. “And, if you must, you may lean on me for support.”

How very generous. Oswald might have rolled his eyes had Victor not been right in front of him.

Oswald glanced from Victor's face to his hand for a few moments before finally reaching out to cautiously grip Victor's. As soon as it was seated, he was being all but dragged to the crowded, yet not overflowing dance floor. He must have looked horribly undignified as Victor manhandled him into his desired position before he began making rhythmic steps to the right that Oswald awkwardly hurried to mirror. There was no going back now so he figured that simply following was better than resisting and making himself look even more ridiculous.

Nothing was said for a long while, Oswald hyper-aware of himself and Victor presumably entertained by his efforts. Occasionally, Victor prompted him to perform a maneuver, sending him out for a side break before bringing him back in, turning them both around each other, Oswald doing the occasional inside turn under Victor's increasingly pleased gaze. Oswald could dance well enough normally, but he had only seldom taken the follower position and even less often danced with another man. Yet the dance itself was simple and the steps familiar, not unlike swing or even a waltz in many ways. And it wasn't as though he didn't enjoy dancing, he very much enjoyed it when he wasn't afraid that one wrong move might set his partner off somehow. He certainly didn't like the omnipresent hand just shy of his waist every time Victor brought him back into their closed position.

Periodically, Victor gave pieces of direction and encouragement. “Follow, Oswald, move with me, not against me, watch your feet, better, just one, two, three, one, two, three, easy.”

Once Oswald finally had found a flow, Victor was the one to prompt a new conversation.

“You've done this before,” he said.

“Well, maybe occasionally before my injury and-”

“I'm afraid I may need to report to the don that dancing robs you of any ability to lie.”

“And- I may have to inform all my friends that you disco shirtless on the weekend,” Oswald dared, almost immediately regretting the words. He winced, half-expecting Zsasz to strangle him.

But, no, Zsasz laughed, that same mocking, almost uncomfortable sound that he had made the day he brought Butch to Oswald.

“Quid pro quot, Oswald, neither of us says a word.”

Oswald laughed back in kind, relaxing his face with effort. “Yes, best to keep this between ourselves.”

Though it pained him to admit it, Oswald was beginning to prefer a chatty Victor to a silent one. At least when Victor spoke, he didn't constantly feel like there was a predator ready to pounce on him at any moment. That didn't mean, however, that Oswald couldn't cut in with a few words of his own.

“Victor?”

“Yes?”

“You spoke of attracting, uh, “mates” before,”

“I did,” Victor confirmed, nodding once.

“Aside from dancing, you wouldn't, perhaps, happen to know anything more on the subject?”

“That depends on who you are looking to attract, Oswald.”

“Well, then, if I were to, say- well, purely in a theoretical sense-”

“If you intended to attract a relatively dominant male, not unlike myself, my simplest advice would be to take on a submissive stance.”

For how much he seemed to like dancing, Victor never was one to dance around a subject.

“Submissive?” Oswald echoed with uncertainty.

“You hold power over him, too much to be appealing,” Victor explained, frowning down at Oswald. “You're a threat to be dealt with rather than a potential mate to protect.”

“That seems a rather primitive way of looking at it,” Oswald offered hesitantly.

“My understanding of James is that he protects those weaker than himself yet refuses to dominate potential threats such as yourself without immediate reason,” Victor continued unabated. “Natural weakness would be attractive to him. Femininity even.”

“You speak like that's certain.”

“I speak from experience,” Victor corrected him. “If he isn't taking power over you himself, you need to hand him power over you. That is your key to reeling him in.”

“That seems- unwise, if I may say.”

“You would be much more attractive to anyone, Oswald, if you dropped your need for control for just a moment.”

Oswald gave an uncomfortable breath of laughter before asking, “Whatever do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“I'm afraid I don't.”

“You'll never attract him with that attitude, Oswald,” Victor chided, shaking his head. “I know you have weakness. You showed it when I brought you Butch. Show that face to James.”

“I'll- consider it,” Oswald finally conceded.

That seemed to satisfy Victor. His smile came back as did his instruction. Oswald couldn't be certain if his advice would be reasonable to follow, but he did have to admit that dancing with Jim Gordon was becoming more appealing the more he thought of it. In fact, if he hooded his eyes and let his mind wander, he could almost forget that he was in a discothèque with Victor Zsasz. He could instead imagine that the man leading him about was someone gentler, sweeter, better suited to his tastes. Jim did owe him quite a few favors already. He would have to keep this in mind for later.

A while after their discussion, Victor allowed- or, more aptly, forced- a recess from their dance to get more to drink. Oswald requested a glass of water this time on top of his drink and Victor, once again, ordered his smoothie-esque concoction.

“What is that exactly?” Oswald asked at last.

“A blend of strawberries, whey, watercress, and other particulars. My own creation.” 

“Oh. That sounds like an- interesting mix,” Oswald said, suppressing a cringe at the idea.

“Would you like to try it?” Victor asked, brandishing the cup in his direction. “It's quite strong, but sweet.”

“I- well, I suppose it couldn't hurt.”

Oswald took the glass from Victor and put it to his lips before talking a tentative sip. A deep, not-quite-bitter flavor immediately assaulted his taste buds, very nearly forcing him spit it out on the spot. It was like someone had broken down food into its nutrients and blended it into a vaguely strawberry tasting slush. He could practically feel the raw protein and vitamins that must have permeated the drink on his tongue. It made him long for a simple sip of water. How Victor managed not one, but two or more of these in one night was a mystery to him.

His surprise must have shown in his face as Victor gave a laugh.

“A lot, isn't it?” he asked.

Oswald managed to choke down the sip he had taken before forcing a smile.

“Yes, a lot more than I had expected,” he said, cautiously offering the glass back.

Victor took it from his hand, easily downing another gulp before placing it back on the counter. 

Before the conversation could continue, a woman sporting an impressive afro and possibly the most sparkly dress Oswald had ever seen in his life approached Victor with a drowned out, “Hey, doll!” Doll. Not quite the nickname he might have given the assassin. Victor seemed pleased to see her, however, and they struck up a conversation, typical catch-up banter and- questions about Zsasz's latest mark? How private did Victor keep his profession? How private did he need to keep it? Oswald didn't want to think about either question.

Taking the moment to pull out his phone, Oswald realized that he had completely forgotten to keep track of time. He couldn't have been dancing for that long, could he have? He flipped open his phone and found the time glaring back at him: 12:30. It was at once a blessing and a curse. His driver would be rolling back soon, but it might be wise to stay longer. But if he could get away sooner-

“Is something the matter, Oswald?” Victor cut in as he was thinking.

“Oh- oh dear,” Oswald stuttered, glancing up to meet Victor's eyes. The woman was gone already. Of course, she couldn't have stayed a second longer. 

“I really should be going,” he explained. “It's already past midnight and I've things to take care of in the morning; I need my rest.”

Victor frowned at his words.

“Perhaps you do,” he said.

Oswald suspected Victor wanted to protest, but he wasn't about to stick around out of pity.

“Yes, I'd best be off then,” Oswald said, turning to head for the door.

“I'll walk with you,” Victor said as he followed, more a demand than an offer.

“No!” Oswald cried. “No, that's not necessary. I don't want to take you away from your- scene.”

“I asked you here because I wanted to spend time with you,” Victor stated, staring him down. “I won't squander any time.”

No talking his way out of it, Oswald supposed.

“If you really feel so strongly, I won't stop you,” he conceded.

Victor seemed to perk up at getting his way, smiling once more as he trotted ahead of Oswald, He lead them through the crowd and back out of the entrance, where he allowed Oswald to take up the front.

As they walked, Oswald once more found himself unnerved by Victor's silence. Not having even a vague idea of the assassin's thoughts proved more unnerving than having an idea of them. While he did wish that Victor had simply stayed put, one more brief discussion for the night couldn't hurt. Hopefully.

“I had a better time than I had anticipated, I admit,” Oswald said.

“I'm pleased to hear that.”

Silence once more. Victor wasn't exactly a consistent conversationalist.

“Your lesson was quite educational, thank you for that,” Oswald tried again, looking back to make eye contact. “I'll have to put it to use soon.”

“It was my pleasure,” Victor said, meeting his gaze halfway “You need all the help you can get in your endeavors.”

“Whatever do you- Ulgh!”

Oswald found himself pushed up against a brick wall, Victor's palm firm on his upper chest and his other hand pinning Oswald's left wrist. His breathing picked up, his heart raced, and he began to shake. He had known that agreeing to this would bring a risk of Victor turning on him, but he had prayed that he could avoid that as he had avoided so many. Maybe he still could avoid being killed here. Maybe he could buy Victor. Maybe- maybe-

All of a sudden, Victor's lips were on his and Oswald couldn't think. With Victor so close, he felt as though he was only half his normal size. He could feel Victor's teeth skimming his lips, just a warning against any potential struggle. Victor kissed not unlike he killed, aggressive and unrelenting, stealing his victim's breath at every turn. It was violating and too fast and Oswald should have made some effort to get away. Yet, at the same time, being under Victor's control gave Oswald an undeniable sense of security. He wasn't sure if Victor had that effect on everyone or if his own deep, dark, suppressed desires were surfacing, but he felt safer with his agency cut off without so much as a “Do you mind?”

And then the lips along with the sensation was gone. Victor released his hold as Oswald was still frozen in place. His tongue flicked out over his lips a few times, like he was lapping up any foreign traces upon them. He had a cool smile on and was blinking slowly, like something was on his mind. His gaze was mocking, laughing at him, yet it struck Oswald as approving at the same time.

“Would you like to have sex, Oswald?”

“You-”

“I wouldn't be asking if I didn't think you could learn something from the experience on top of our mutual pleasure. I'm aware that your sexual encounters have been limited, one-sided.”

“I- I-” Oswald wanted to laugh and cry and scream at Victor for knowing anything about his sexual history, but none of those reactions were agreeing with each other.

“I wouldn't take a “no, thank you” that badly, really.”

“Yes!” The word slipped out so quickly, Oswald wasn't sure if he had said it.

“Are you certain?” Victor asked.

“Yes,” Oswald repeated. He had said it once, no going back now. “I- sex would be lovely. Thank you.”

Victor laid a hand on Oswald's cheek, smiling like a wolf.

“You won't regret a thing, I promise you that.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is longer than the first chapter.

The ride back to the Lounge was awkward to say the least, or, it was for Oswald anyway. Victor seemed beyond content to sit with an arm firmly wrapped around Oswald's waist. It was a dually humiliating experience, Zsasz having him in both a protective and possessive hold. Oswald did not need protecting and he certainly wasn't anyone's pet. He had taken care of himself and survived against the odds and he desperately wanted to rage at Victor for even having the gall to touch him, let alone hold him as he was.

Yet, at the same time, letting Victor play his game both reduced the chance of him being strangled or stabbed or shot or God knows what before his takeover of Gotham's criminal underground. And as a bonus, Victor might just put in the good word for Oswald with Falcone, which was never a bad thing. Really, not provoking Victor simply seemed like a net good in any case. Of all the people in the city of Gotham, Victor Zsasz frightened Oswald the most. Victor simply didn't make any sense. Trying to manipulate him was like beating on a concrete wall, he didn't respond to offers of money, he seemed devoid of empathy, and his only interest was in completing his kills. Not to mention that Victor seemed acutely aware of Oswald's facade, but he hadn't acted on that knowledge so far. Oswald wasn't one to jump to conclusions, but it was as though Victor was observing him. For who and for what reason, Oswald had no idea, but something was going on in the assassin's impregnable mind.

And now he had agreed to have sex with this man. It was an utterly insane decision, but no more of one than agreeing to dance with Victor had been. Oswald didn't even know why Victor wanted to have sex with him, yet it was at once an invigorating and horrifying idea. They were just rolling up to the front of the Iceberg Lounge and another knot had cemented itself in his belly. Oswald had to question which car ride had been more tense, the one to the discothèque or the one coming back.

Zsasz's arm left his waist as the car came to a stop, only for one of his hands to grip Oswald's wrist and eagerly usher him out of the vehicle. While Oswald wasn't being pulled exactly, Zsasz was clearly in no mood to wait. Oswald had a second to exchange a bewildered glance with the car's driver before Zsasz shut the door and headed inside.

To Oswald's surprise, he didn't need to lead Zsasz through the lounge and up to the second floor. He was, in fact, very much in Zsasz's wake. Even as they got upstairs, Zsasz still wasn't asking for any direction and made his way towards Oswald's room with a seemingly practiced ease. Oswald probably should have been more disturbed at the idea of Zsasz keeping in mind where he slept at night, but at this point, that was one of the less immediately worrying matters on his mind.

As soon as they were both in the door, Victor released his hold without prompting. He moved to shut the door in a long, smooth movement before taking in a breath and relaxing his shoulders. Turning back to Oswald, he raked his eyes up and down the other man's form. Oswald swallowed hard. Suddenly he felt very exposed.

“Undress for me,” Victor said, still cold, but softer than his regular tone.

Oswald didn't hesitate as he sat on his bed and began to unlace and take off his shoes, staring pointedly at the floor. His heart was racing again, more thanks to anticipation than proper anxiety this time. He felt as though like Victor was playing with him, like a cat teasing a mouse, allowing it to squirm and scuttle about, but always coming back to corner it. For once, he had no idea if that was or wasn't the case. Trying to read Victor was as fruitless as trying to manipulate him. He almost laughed; were Falcone to have Victor watch him round the clock, it was unlikely he would get any meaningful work done. He would probably never overthrow the don. What wonderful luck he had.

Just as he'd removed his socks, Oswald dared to look up and found Victor gazing at him, completely nude and calm as could be. He was standing less straight than usual, curved forward at the base of his chest just a bit. Oswald almost suspected that Victor's clothes had been the only thing maintaining his posture.

Victor must have thought his gaze was curious if his next words were anything to go by.

“I hate clothing,” he said.

“You'd prefer we all walk around naked?” Oswald asked, half-smiling.

“You have good ideas, Oswald. It's a shame you don't put them to good use,” Victor said, returning the smile.

He leaned in to kiss Oswald once more. It was less aggressive than his first, but it lingered. Oswald tentatively pressed back, hoping that was what Victor wanted. It was a little overwhelming. Victor knew what he was doing or, at least, he acted like he knew what he was doing. He had experience. Oswald had barely kissed anyone in his life, sans his mother. It hadn't been necessary until this moment.

Victor pulled back, but kept his hands where they were and, by extension, Oswald's face in place.

“I want you to understand how you should be treated and how you should behave. Both are important.”

Oswald felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle at the words and Victor's stare. It was difficult enough forcing himself to look back when Victor looked at him, but being forced to do so against his will was an entirely different kind of stressful.

Victor leaned back in to continue the kiss while one hand slunk down to unbutton Oswald's jacket the rest of the way down. It was pleasant enough, having slightly dry lips on his skin. But at the same time, there was a biting sense that at any moment Victor might decide to eat him.

There was a tug at the neck of his jacket and Oswald broke the kiss to start working himself out of it, his eyes momentarily off of Victor. In the moment it took to remove and discard the thing, Victor ducked down farther and put his mouth over where Oswald knew his pulse would be. On an impulse, Oswald leaned his head upward, only exposing more of his neck.

“What are- Victor, that's not very- not very-”

“Not very arousing?” Victor suggested, pulling back to look at his face. “No. Only an intimate gesture.”

“I wasn't aware that- that was considered intimate,” Oswald said, leaning his head forward in an effort guard his neck.

“So long as you don't bite. Hard.”

Victor snickered at his own words, a reaction Oswald mimicked with uncertainty.

“Do you need this shirt?” Victor asked.

“I suppose it's not-”

Before Oswald could say more, Victor took his shirt in both hands and tore the poor cotton thing from his chest. It was done so quickly that it took a second or two for Oswald to feel the fabric burn on his back. He was left staring at Victor, dumbstruck and a bit chilly.

“Is _that_ an intimate gesture?”

“No,” Victor said, tossing the shredded mess away. “But it's faster. Your pants now.”

Victor turned away from Oswald to pick up his discarded pants. Even as Oswald worked his own off along with his briefs, he never took his eyes off Victor. He hoped Victor wouldn't pull out razors or arsenic pills or worse, but he wanted to be as prepared to run as possible.

To his relief, Victor only pulled out a slightly used tube of lubrication. Oswald wrinkled his nose at the idea of him sleeping around. And, while it was unlikely that Victor would be reckless, Oswald had to ask.

“Are you clean?”

Victor blinked at him, in what could have been either surprise or offense. Oswald prayed it wasn't the latter.

“Meticulously. And so are you. Unless you're not telling me something.”

Now there was an idea: contract an STD and spread it to Victor in order to cripple him and by extension Falcone. While an entertaining thought, it would be messy to carry out and he'd likely be found out, considering how much Victor seemed to know already.

“No, of course not, I'm perfectly healthy.”

“Then we can begin. Lie back and spread your legs. I want to see you.”

Taking a slow breath, Oswald backed himself farther onto the bed and laid down flat on his back.

Victor followed him onto the bed, resting on his knees as he looked Oswald up and down. Oswald's heart raced and he let his head rest on its side. He didn't want to see what Victor was planning, knowing him, he was going to go hard and fast. Best to let it run its course. But, to his surprise, no attempt at penetration came. Oswald could hear Victor shifting around. What did he think he was doing? Hands gripped his hips and lifted them just so. He felt a breath on his penis, then a tongue on his balls, and then-

“Lo-ord!” Oswald moaned, reflexively trying to close his legs and squirm away. It felt good, but it was too much at once. Victor's grip, however, was unyielding and kept him in place.

“Thought you might like that,” he said. Oswald could hear the smirk in his voice. It was infuriating. “Relax. Let me pleasure you.”

“Why would anyone- Oh- oh, God!”

Victor continued to lick at his asshole. Oswald didn't know how anyone could be so damn smug while doing something so outlandishly depraved, but it seemed that Victor was just showing off how easy all this was for him.

The stimulation continued for perhaps a minute or, at least, until Oswald was fully hard. It was more than a little humiliating that Victor had been able to stimulate a reaction with such little effort. Fortunately for Oswald's rapidly dwindling pride, the tongue disappeared suddenly and he could hear Victor speaking once more.

“What was it you were saying?”

“That- that can't be hygienic,” Oswald rasped, daring to open his eyes and look up at his partner.

Victor laughed at the comment. “Really, Oswald, if cleanliness is your concern, rimming isn't the worst I've done. I'd be very disappointed in myself if it was.”

He lifted himself upright once more, a bit like a cobra without its hood.

“Have you ever been penetrated before?”

“I've tried to keep my sexual encounters minimal before now, honestly.”

“No then. Shame. But you'll learn now.”

Victor reached out and picked up the lube. Once more, Oswald averted his eyes. This was it. He had agreed to go through with this, but laying there then, open and exposed and already humiliated, he hoped it would be over soon.

A hand touched his, surprisingly warm and dry.

“You're shivering, Oswald.”

Was he really? He clenched one hand into a fist and found that it was true, there was a quake going through him.

“It scares you, doesn't it? Being vulnerable?”

Victor's observation was a little too on the nose.

“I- I-”

“But you're so pretty like this. If only I'd brought a mirror.” Victor patted his thigh. “Sit up, come here.”

With hesitation, Oswald made to obey. In retrospect, he might have done better to stay put and demand Victor get on with it. As soon as he was semi-upright, Victor embraced him, bringing their chests close and allowing Oswald to rest his head upon his shoulder. He then sat back so his legs were partially crossed under Oswald and held him like that, his dry hand gently stroking up and down Oswald's back. Within seconds, questions cropped up in his mind: Was Victor trying to comfort him? Trying to build tension? Stall for whatever reason? Did he simply genuinely want them both to experience closeness and intimacy? He supposed he'd have to wait for any kind of answer, if any ever came. Oswald had to admit, though, that it wasn't so bad to be, for lack of a better word, cuddled. Especially now that he wasn't being forced to look at Victor.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Victor spoke once more.

“One or both legs around me, please. It will be easier that way.”

Without a word, Oswald did as he was told, bringing one leg around to cling at Victor's hip while the other rested more loosely behind him.

“You'll want to bite,” Victor warned. “Don't hold back.”

“Wai-”

A blunt finger, slick with lube yet warm enough, prodded into his entrance. It was perhaps the oddest sensation Oswald had experienced yet, and he'd been through a lot. Having been granted permission previously, Oswald bit into the meat of Victor's shoulder and dug his teeth in.

“A-ah haha!” Victor laughed out without ceasing his digital invasion. “Strong jaw you've got there. From all the needless chatter, I'm sure.”

Oswald would have pointed out the hypocrisy of such a comment, but he was too busy trying to accustom himself. Victor was no help. The finger squirmed and explored inside of him with little apparent purpose other than to prepare him for what was to come. It was becoming almost unbearable until a sudden brilliant sensation coursed up from his loins.

“Victor!” Oswald cried out, his jaw unlocking suddenly as his back pivoted, trying to regain that momentary bliss.

“I like how you say my name,” Victor said, rubbing up against the same spot as before.

“Yes, yes, yes, please, Victor,” he chanted the words like a mantra. He was flushed and more humbled than ever, but it didn't matter.

Even as Victor pressed in an additional finger and then another, Oswald barely noticed. He was entirely focused on seeking that same initial thrill. He was beginning to believe that this entire encounter would be worth the stress after all. Victor seemed almost as pleased about this development as Oswald was, as he had leaned in to nuzzle at Oswald's cheek, pressing the occasional kiss to his jawline. Oswald no longer minded at all.

That is, until the fingers were pulled out altogether. He let out a desperate cry, as though something very dear to his heart had just been torn from him. And in that moment of non-stimulation, worry cropped up once more What was the matter with him? Letting a small pleasure dictate his actions? He was never this pathetic. Oswald had to keep his head, for all he knew, this could all be a ploy for him to let his guard down. Even if it hadn't seemed to be that for the entirety of the night so far.

Victor carefully let Oswald down so his head rested just so upon one of the pillows, getting back up on his knees as he did so. He put a hand on Oswald's leg, prompting him to let it relax and allowing Victor to press it back for easier access. The pressing of _something_ blunt and yet bulbous was what broke Oswald from his external worries.

“Breathe in,” Victor ordered, and before Oswald could truly react, the head of his cock was pushing inside.

Oswald had seen penises, he'd sucked them, he even owned one himself, but now he was realizing that you never truly knew what they felt like until one went in you properly. And it wasn't comfortable.

His face contorted and his jaw stretched out in a choked whine. It was like someone was trying to tear him in half from the inside out.

“Sh, sh, sh, this too shall pass,” Victor assured him, leaning forward to stroke Oswald's cheek. “You're doing well, truly.”

Oswald made a concentrated effort to breathe evenly as he waited to adjust to the intrusion. He wasn't as uncomfortable as he had been a moment prior, but he still wouldn't call his situation pleasant. It was hard to tell whether Victor's efforts at comfort were truly helping, but Oswald was grateful for them nonetheless.

“Are we ready?” Victor asked after a few moments of waiting.

Oswald expected him to get going without waiting for an answer, as per usual, but this time Victor's gaze stayed on him and he kept still. It took him half a minute before he figured out that Victor genuinely wanted an answer. Oswald supposed that the circumstance wasn't going to become any easier if they waited longer to begin properly.

“I am, yes,” he said, out of breath. “I am.”

“You'll want to be.”

With that, Victor began to pull out, just as slow as he had pushed in. And as he did so the same spark from the previous fingering returned. It didn't completely override the remaining discomfort, but it certainly wasn't unwelcome.

“Ah, God, Victor!” Oswald cried out.

“Good?” he asked, the self-satisfaction in his voice unbearable.

“Keep going, damn you!”

Oswald could hear Victor laugh just as a second thrill shot through him. Victor was thrusting in earnest now, he could tell, even as he was so effectively overstimulated. He reached out and gripped the shoulder he had bitten earlier on an impulse, and found the imprint of his teeth still present. If he weren't so distracted, he might have been surprised. His jaw was loose and remained agape at the constant push and pull.

Precum was leaking onto Oswald's belly at an unprecedented rate. He hadn't been quite this aroused in a long while and, as such, knew he couldn't last long. Probably for the best. It wasn't wise to get used to experiencing too much bliss for too long. Even if in the back of his mind, Oswald knew he wouldn't have protested if Victor just kept going forever. It might have been nice actually, just laying there for the longest time, being pushed through orgasm after orgasm. The thought brought Oswald's free hand down to his cock. From there, it took only a couple quick strokes before Oswald felt his mind explode with his release. A bit dramatic, perhaps, but satisfying after an excruciatingly long wait for relief.

Even once he had come, though, Victor kept going. He sped up even, his thrusts going harder and he was grunting audibly with effort. Oswald whimpered below him as a buzz of gratification kept coursing through him with no proper outlet remaining. It wasn't unpleasant nor painful, but it was a bit overwhelming. When he finally came to his climax, Victor let out a triumphant roar that Oswald could only describe as animal and so very Zsasz. Were he not already spent, it might have turned him on more.

As he pulled out, Oswald gave a tiny, mourning whine, despite any relief he might have felt otherwise. Limp, sweaty, and plainly exhausted, Oswald only wanted to collapse and sleep for a hundred odd years without the constant worry of being murdered.

Victor seemed to be reading his mind, as he grabbed Oswald and easily flipped the two of them over so he lay on his back with Oswald on top of himself. It was an invitation, clearly, and one Oswald gladly accepted, shifting so he rested comfortably, face buried in Victor's chest.

One arm draped itself across Oswald's back. Victor stole a lingering kiss to the top of his head before his free hand took over to pet Oswald's hair. He could just barely see Victor's face in his peripheral vision, but there was definitely a very pleased smile on his face.

“You've done well, you know,” Victor informed him.

“Have I?” he asked, only barely understanding what was said.

“You let go. You trusted me to take care of you despite being anxious. That's part of the exchange. Trust and pleasure.”

“I suppose,” Oswald murmured, not convinced and yet in no state to question his words.

“You'll have him yet, Oswald,” Victor said. “And he'll be lucky to have you. Mention me sometime. We can have fun together if he's willing to share. You'd like that, you'd like that very much.”

Victor kept mumbling and it shouldn't have been soothing at all, but, half-asleep already, Oswald couldn't help but take comfort in both Victor's voice and presence. He could sleep and he would feel protected, even if the tiger in his bed was as liable to kill him as it was anyone else. Everything was okay. Oswald felt his eyes close fully and he was perfectly content.

*****

The following day, Oswald woke to a nervous knock on his door. He immediately noticed he was naked and more comfortably tucked into his blankets than usual. Not to mention that he'd been having the oddest dream. Something about riding around on an unusually friendly jackal. Yet he felt rested, more well rested than he had been in weeks.

“It's not locked,” he said as he sat up, stretching his arms out towards the ceiling.

Gabe poked his head in, looking in Oswald's direction with an unusual mixture of uncertainty and horror.

“Uh, boss, it's noon,” he said. “Thought you'd like to know.”

Oswald nodded lazily, waving his assistant away.

“Thank you, Gabriel; I'll be along in a moment.”

The door shut once again, almost too quickly. Something must have been amiss if even Gabe was acting up.

Oswald shifted the blankets off of himself and turned to sit up. Just then, he spotted what looked like a note, sitting on his bedside table with one of the lounge's pens resting upon it. And just then, everything that had happened flooded back into his mind.

“Oh, sweet lord,” he said, rubbing his hands down his face before picking up the paper.

The handwriting was a mess, as could be expected but Oswald could just barely make out what it said. “Had a great time. Good luck. Come dance with me again.”

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, holy God. The last thing Oswald needed was for this to become a regular thing, even a semi-regular thing. He didn't need any more Victor Zsasz in his life than he already had. He had enough to worry about without a trained killer looming over him while he made nice for his own sake.

Oswald fell back on the bed with a groan as he contemplated what he was going to do that next time Zsasz wanted to invite him out. He couldn't just say no, especially not after he'd agreed the first time and he didn't want to get any closer. It was a no-win situation and could throw a wrench in his entire plan if he wasn't careful.

He blinked and let go of the tension in his shoulders he hadn't been aware he was holding. Maybe a “friendship” with Victor wasn't such a bad thing after all. Victor was perhaps Don Falcone's closest follower after all. He certainly seemed loyal, but perhaps he might be willing to talk more freely about his employer given some time to build trust in Oswald. Direct information from the top could prove to be invaluable. And the sex hadn't been bad per se, not at all, in fact. It had only been a little awkward considering Oswald wasn't used to what they had done. A repeat or two of the experience could be quite enjoyable, now that he thought about it. Perhaps he could even convince Victor to join him once Falcone was out of the way, but that was a bridge to be crossed another day.

Laughing to himself, Oswald stood up once more. He needed to stop panicking so easily over small things. And besides, there wasn't any time to waste. Oswald had a call to make to a certain officer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm picky and may have to go back and edit this thing occasionally, but right now, I am so glad it's done. And so quickly too. Usually chapters this long take me a month at least.
> 
> Once again, if anyone notices errors with continuity, grammar, spelling, whatever, or chunks of the story missing, or anything wrong really, tell me so I can fix it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if anyone would ever want to see any more of this, but hopefully I'll finish the second, less disco-y chapter soon-ish.
> 
> I listened to an unprecedented amount of disco while writing this. You should listen to some disco too. Get Down Tonight, Le Freak, Let's Groove, all songs you should look up because I'm too tired to give links right now. 
> 
> If I've made any mistakes, please correct me, I didn't get this edited and I haven't watched Gotham in a while and it is completely possible that random chunks of the story may be missing due to some negligence on my part. Or it all could just be terrible, I dunno.


End file.
